


Brooklyn Seven-Seven

by lodgedinmythoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Police, Detective Steve Rogers, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Inspired by Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Police Officer Steve Rogers, Steve and Reader have a weird thing going on, Workplace Setting, grumpy steve, no real plot, sitcom feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodgedinmythoughts/pseuds/lodgedinmythoughts
Summary: Brooklyn 99-inspired AU drabbles/one shots where Steve, Reader and the gang are NYPD detectives at the fictional (or so I thought) 77th precinct. Updates will come as inspiration strikes.
Relationships: Avengers Team & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 77
Kudos: 105





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Brought on by all my binge-watching of the gloriousness that is B99. I feel like this AU might find a very niche audience? Or not? Who knows? FYI, I know next to nothing about police procedurals and am too lazy to do in-depth research so if there are any glaring inaccuracies, please forgive me. This is just for fun!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it's implied that you may have stayed up the entire night with a date and Steve finds himself unusually (or usually) cranky.

Coffee in hand, you stepped off the elevator and into the bullpen as inconspicuously as possible, which was to say, not inconspicuously at all.

“Happy Monday, Rook. Someone looks refreshed this morning.” Wilson smirked at you from his desk.

You grumbled an unintelligible response and plopped down at your desk that was pushed up against and directly across from Rogers’s.

Looked like the nickname wasn’t going away anytime soon.

It was three years ago when you’d just transferred to the precinct that you were dubbed Rookie despite the fact that you weren’t one. You’d known you were entering an established dynamic when you transferred and fought to keep your head up high. You’d take the teasing in stride so long as it was all in jest, but you were not going to be made to feel less than or like an outsider, not if you were going to be working in close proximity with those very people for the foreseeable future.

Your fears were soon laid to rest. Though the others didn’t go out of their way to include you in the beginning, they were welcoming enough, if not indifferent. You supposed that was good enough.

Then came a particularly tiring case that culminated in the group of detectives sprinting through the night after an armed larceny suspect during which you tackled Detective Romanoff to the ground, sparing her from the bullet that whizzed just past your shoulder, and the nickname shortly thereafter turned into ‘Rook.’ It had stuck ever since.

“Might want to consider bringing something stronger next time,” Rogers said from his desk in a bored tone, indicating the coffee in your hand. “I can see the bags under your eyes all the way from here.”

“Not a huge surprise considering we’re forced to be seated six feet apart from each other. A shame if you ask me,” was your swift rejoinder. It was accompanied by a challenging, albeit tired, glare in his direction.

Across the room, Wilson snorted and returned to his work. Rogers met your glare with his own.

The two of you had developed a weird dynamic ever since you joined the precinct. Whereas the others had warmed up to you in time, he seemed to maintain a distinct dislike for you. He remained professional for the most part, but he wasn’t as friendly with you as he was with the others.

Although, friendly wasn’t quite the word for it. He wasn’t the biggest talker to begin with and he was generally more sedate than anything, but he was more open and forthcoming with everyone else. It seemed the most time he willingly spent interacting with you was either to criticize or antagonize you.

Maybe it was just his personality, or maybe he really did have something against you. It could have been anything. It was possible that it was entirely nothing or in actuality had nothing to do with you, or even that you reminded him of someone he knew whom he wasn’t particularly fond of.

Whatever it was, you elected to ignore it. It wasn’t worth your energy, and seeing as you got on with the job just fine, you could handle his strange dislike, even if it made something in your chest do some weird thump every time you glanced up from your work to find his blue eyes on you, after which they’d quickly flicker away and he’d go back to acting as though you didn’t exist.

With confident strides, Romanoff exited Captain Fury’s office at the other end and crossed the bustling bullpen. She leaned a hip against the dark metal of your desk and folded her arms over her black leather jacket.

“Where’s mine?” She eyed the cup on your desk.

“You don’t need it. There were two coffee cups in your trash can as I passed by. You normally only have one in the morning if any at all, which leads me to the not-so-elusive conclusion that you were up extremely late last night yourself. Care to tell?”

“Nice deflection. Too bad it won’t stop me from figuring out what I already figured out twenty seconds ago.”

“What?” Rogers asked.

“That Rook went on a date last night. Rumpled blouse, leftover makeup.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you countered.

“Not to mention the hickey on your neck looking me dead in the eye.”

You immediately shrank into yourself, failing miserably at hiding the bruise on your neck with the collar of your blazer.

“Rook was on a date and from the looks of it, I’m guessing it went…very well,” Romanoff said. “So what’s his name? Or her. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Nonexistent,” you said.

“Nonexistent. Weird name.”

“All names are weird.”

“I’m going to find out sooner or later, Rook. You know I am.”

“Why do you care so much, Natasha?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve heard about your love life. What? I like good gossip every now and then just as much as the next person.”

“Leave us alone, Romanoff. Don’t you have a mountain of paperwork sitting at your desk?” Rogers butted in.

“Not talking to you, Rogers.”

“But now you are.”

Romanoff lifted off the desk, saying, “Have it your way,” and strode across the room to her desk.

You returned to your computer screen, relieved that was the end of that.

You were checking your email when Rogers muttered out of the blue, “He in high school?”

“What?” you said, confused.

“No guy purposely leaves hickeys in such a visible area unless he’s fifteen or territorial. Your guy territorial?” His tone was dispassionate and he didn’t bother looking your way, only continued typing away on his computer.

“Who said it was on purpose?” you challenged.

“Noted. I’d appreciate it, however, if you didn’t bother me with the details. Unlike some of us, I like to actually come in on time and get work done.”

He pushed back from his desk, stood with a stack of files in hand, and headed straight for Wilson’s desk. You gaped after him, stifling the incredible urge to lob your stapler at his back.

A ping sounded from your computer.

Romanoff’s name appeared on the screen in bold. You clicked on the email.

_You’re welcome._

You turned your head and spotted Romanoff at her desk. Her smirk was barely bit back before she looked away.

A new ping came.

_Don’t worry. No one will find out from me that you were up cleaning and got into a fight with your vacuum cleaner._

You typed back.

_How’d you know?_

Her reply was swift.

_Dust on your pantsuit._

Another ping.

_But also you butt dialed me at 8 o’clock last night and I heard you smack talking the vacuum cleaner as it attacked you._

You huffed, refusing to look her way again.

You really hated Mondays.


	2. Tells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it turns out you're a little more observant when it comes to Steve than you thought.

“This guy’s never going to come out. It’s been three hours and there hasn’t been so much as a shadow from his room,” you said.

“Shouldn’t have become a detective if you didn’t have the patience, Rook,” Steve said from beside you.

It was nearing two a.m. and the two of you were on a stakeout in an undercover car. Steve blended in perfectly with his black leather jacket that fit seamlessly over his broad shoulders, much to your annoyance.

The pair of you had kept a vigilant watch on the window across the street all night. The visible light that bled through the curtain proved to be the only sign of life in the apartment.

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend like you haven’t been restless for the past hour and a half,” you said.

He deigned to drag his questioning gaze toward you.

“Your neck. You rub the back of it every time you’re impatient or annoyed and trying to hide it.”

“You know my tell?”

“I’ve worked with you for three years, Rogers. Besides, you couldn’t be more obvious about it.”

“I’m not obvious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And if anyone’s obvious, it’s you. You do that thing where you blink in rapid succession and purse your lips every time you’re embarrassed.”

You floundered.

“Case in point.”

“That’s not a tell. That’s just body language 101.”

“Might say the same about mine. Guess you don’t have one up on me like you thought after all.”

You shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“That, I very much believe.”

“Hey.” His tone turned urgent as he swiftly sat to attention. “Think he’s on the move.”

You followed his gaze to see a silhouette in the window right before the light went off. Roughly a minute later, a scraggly man exited the building and got into a beat-up car before he drove off into the night.

“He’s going to the meetup,” Steve said as he started the ignition.

“Finally.”

Steve merged into traffic and followed the car, keeping a safe distance.

After an uneventful mile of traveling, the suspect’s car suddenly accelerated and swerved to the left, cutting a car off in the intersection.

“He’s onto us.” Switching on the emergency lights, Steve hit the gas and promptly gave chase.

You wound through the streets for a quarter of a mile, the suspect showing no signs of stopping. Then he swerved again and disappeared into an alley barely wide enough for a car.

“Idiot. Other side’s closed for construction,” Steve said.

He deftly turned into the alley after the suspect, where you found the other car at the opposite end blocked off by a large metal gate and construction barricades on the other side.

The suspect’s car revved as he rammed into the fence to no avail, and then he backtracked for a hot second as though he could ram his way back out. He must have finally figured out he was well and fully trapped since he was bolting out of the car and attempting to climb the fence haphazardly in the same amount of time it took you and Steve to hurry out of the car and rush over.

“NYPD, freeze!” you shouted.

The man paused in his frantic getaway and twisted the upper half of his body toward you and Steve, hastily reaching into his jacket.

Steve was faster.

In less than a second, he had a gun pointed at the other man with a steady hand. Likewise, your weapon was trained on him as well.

“Don’t even think about it. Hands where we can see them,” Steve said.

A weighty sigh of defeat came from the raggedy man, his head hung low as he remained three feet off the ground with one hand clutching the fence and the other up in surrender.

“Get down with your hands where we can see them. Slowly. Then you’re going to stand facing this wall with your hands on it,” Steve ordered.

The man obeyed, and the second he was against the wall, Steve was on him to check for weapons. Sure enough, he found two guns in his jacket. You handled the weapons while Steve read him his Miranda rights.

“What’s the name of the guy you were going to go meet?” Steve questioned.

“I’m not telling you jackshit.”

“Have it your way, then.”

The man was quickly put in cuffs, and soon you had an apprehended suspect in the back of your vehicle.

“Let’s get him booked fast. We need the info on who his peddler is and we need it now. We’re taking down this whole ring if I have any say in it,” Steve said after he shut the door on the suspect.

You couldn’t resist the slight tug at the corner of your mouth.

“What?” He looked at you over the roof of the car, one hand on the door handle of the driver’s side.

You brushed it off easily. “Nothing.”

With little trouble, you delivered the suspect to the station and handed him off to the proper officers who would have him processed.

When that was taken care of, you rapped Steve on the chest with your knuckles as you passed by him on the way to the door.

“Your jaw clench.”

“What?” He turned until he was half-angled your way.

You spun around to face him. “That’s another one of your tells. You clench your jaw when you’re having a hard time restraining yourself from doing something. Judging by the way you did it when you put our perp in the back of the car, I’d guess that something was clocking him in the face.”

“That’s not a tell. Just body language 101, remember?”

“Oh, but you make it so easy. Oh, look, you just did it again.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in my ass?” He turned in the other direction.

“You do. Every day. Have a good night.” You turned in the opposite direction.

All you wanted after a long day such as that was a good night’s sleep, and you were determined to get it.

Even Rogers’s grumpy demeanor wasn’t going to ruin that.


	3. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Steve makes you acknowledge the little crush Captain Fury's assistant maybe definitely has on you.

A small stack of papers landed on your desk.

“Here are copies of that release form you asked for.” Peter looked down at you, wide-eyed and hopeful.

“Oh, but I didn’t,” you said, not unkindly.

“You didn’t have to. I could read it up here.” He tapped the side of his noggin.

You stared at him.

He blanched. “I could…see it in your eyes?”

You gently pulled the papers closer. “Thanks, Peter.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with your acknowledgement. “Also, uh, Cap-Captain wants to see you. Both of you.” He swiveled around to address Steve, who worked at his desk.

You nodded. “Thanks, Peter.”

He lingered for a short moment, like he was waiting for more, before he gave up and eventually went on his way.

“Put the poor kid out of his misery already,” Steve said, getting up for Fury’s office.

You rose and fell into step with him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. As if it’s any secret the guy’s half in love with you.”

“Hush. That’s not true.”

“If that’s not true, then I’m secretly the Italian mobster in the Manganelli case.”

“That makes zero sense.”

“Just like your hair today. Did you fall asleep in a barn last night?”

You swatted his arm.

The two of you quickly reached Fury’s office. Neither made an attempt to let the other one through first, making your shoulders jam against the other’s as you shoved through the doorframe together.

“Captain. You wanted to see us?” you said, pinning a bright smile on your face.

Fury looked up from where he signed something on his desk. “I did. You still working those B&Es, detective?”

“Yes, sir. Wilson and I were going to speak to the victims later this afternoon.”

“Yeah, well, he’s off the case now. You may have noticed he didn’t show up after lunch today. He notified me that a family emergency just cropped up and that he won’t be back ’til next week.”

“Sir?”

“As a result, I’ve assigned Rogers to be your partner on the case since he just wrapped up the Vandenberg case according to Sergeant Hill. That okay with you?”

“Well, I suppose I don’t have a choice, sir.”

“That’s correct. You don’t. Detective Rogers?”

“On it, sir.”

“Good. That’ll be all.”

“Why didn’t Sam tell me he had to leave?” you asked Steve as you left Fury’s office.

“Pretty sure he did. You left your phone on your desk when you got back from lunch and you haven’t looked at it since.”

“Stop paying so much attention to me. It’s creepy.”

“I also heard your computer go off while you were off having a bowel movement.”

“Ugh.”

“What, are girls not human, too? By the way, I really wish you would mute those notifications. They’re really starting to drive me crazy.”

“For the record, I wasn’t even doing number two.”

“You’re still on that?”

“I was _ugh_ -ing you because I got sidetracked on my way to the bathroom when Barnes and Natasha pulled me into their stupid debate about which place has the best steak in Brooklyn.”

“Those two? They’re still pretending they don’t have a thing for each other?”

“Um, excuse me?” came a new voice.

You and Steve turned to find Peter looking back and forth between you two.

“You dropped this back in Captain Fury’s office.” Peter held out a business card that you’d slipped into your pocket and handed it back.

“Oh. Thank you, Peter.”

“Of course. Whatever you need, I’m-I’m here. You know, for…you. And I mean, all of you. I’m here for all of you. Well, I mean, I’m mainly here for Fury seeing as I’m his assistant and all, but I’m here for you guys, too, if you need me, and I…I think I’ll just stop talking now.”

He promptly walked away.

“That’s three times now you’ve thanked him and the day’s only half over. Even used his name. He’s not going to be able to sleep tonight just thinking about it,” Steve said as he sat at his desk.

“Stop it,” you whispered harshly.

“Crush,” he said plainly before turning his attention to his work.

“It’s not a crush. It’s just because I was the only one who was nice to him his first day on the job.”

You sat down and twisted around to look at Peter across the room, only to find him with his cheek resting on one hand, already gazing your way.

At the unexpected attention, he scrambled upright in his seat and busied himself with his computer. You were almost positive you could see the red tint to his cheeks from across the room.

You turned back to Steve, unamused.

He, on the other hand, was highly amused.

“Crush,” he mouthed.


	4. Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the squad gets word that a celebrity billionaire is going to pay the precinct a visit.

“And you, Wilson, any headway on the Mercado case?” Sergeant Hill asked from the podium.

“Got a witness that was able to ID one of the perps. Now we’re just looking to get him to talk so we can get the other guy,” he answered from the front row of the briefing room.

“Good. Rogers, Romanoff, what’s the status on the Willoughby murders?”

“Still waiting to hear back from the M.E. about the scarring on the last vic’s liver,” said Steve.

“And turns out his earlier alibi was easily proven false by his neighbor, which comes as a surprise to pretty much no one. We’re prepared for the long weekends it’ll take ’til the case is closed,” Natasha added.

“Glad to hear it.” Hill shut her binder with an audible flap. “Now, last but not least, you should all be informed that Tony Stark will be coming into the precinct today. I’m only telling you as a reminder to maintain the utmost professionalism. That means no crowding him, asking for his autograph so you can complete your dream board. I’m looking at you, Quill.”

Offended and completely silent thus far, Quill put his arms up all the way from his seat in the back. “What? Come on, I’ve got, like, three more signatures to go. New year, new me. You all know he ranks consistently in my top three public figures I aspire to emulate, just behind Oprah.”

“First of all, it’s May,” Natasha said, twisted in her seat to face him. “Second, you aspire to be a pompous, arrogant jerk who likes to use women? Not exactly shining qualities.”

“Okay, first of all to your first of all, technically, a year can start whenever you want it to, and second, precisely why I chose the word ‘emulate,’ which, in addition to meaning ‘to match,’ also means ‘to surpass.’ Ergo, I mean to surpass him. Thank you. Case closed. And now that that’s done, could someone please tell me if I used ‘ergo’ correctly? ’Cause I would highly appreciate that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Come on, guys, enough,” said Sergeant Hill, long accustomed to the tangents during the daily briefings. “This is exactly why I wanted to tell you ahead of time. Keep it professional, folks.”

“I didn’t even think Tony Stark lived in this precinct,” you said.

Hill shrugged dismissively. “If ‘lives’ means keeps a second brownstone here. Or third or fourth, whatever’s in vogue these days. He called in earlier about a B&E and an emerald necklace that seems to be stolen and volunteered to come in. Now then, if no one has any questions or anything else they’d like to add, you’re dismissed.”

Chatter filled the room as everyone filed out.

You’d just cleared the room when Steve caught up to you.

“Think he’s going to live up to his name?” he said just over your shoulder.

You walked to the microwave with him following behind you. “Who, Stark? No idea. All I know about him is that he’s richer than some small countries, a womanizer, and was pretty much the poster boy for the military-industrial complex for much of his career. Apart from that, I don’t really follow anything the guy does.”

“Neither do I, but it’ll be interesting seeing him in person.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms, watching as you heated up your tea. “You’re drinking blackberry now?”

“What? I’m experimenting.”

“Parker’s feelings are going to be hurt if you don’t try the oolong he got for you.”

“He got it for the whole squad.”

“Denial isn’t a good look on you, Rook.”

“But why would it be? The longest river in Egypt hardly looks good on anyone.” You stirred your tea innocently.

“Why do I associate myself with you willingly?”

“I ask myself that every day.”

He was about to say something else when a small commotion came from the elevator.

You both turned to find the one and only Tony Stark breezing through the bullpen gate with several admirers in his wake. With orange-tinted sunglasses, a finely-sculpted goatee, and a tan double-breasted suit with designer sneakers that probably cost more than your salary, he looked every bit the carefree entrepreneur.

Quill was on him the second he walked through the gate.

“Quill! Come on, man.” Sam attempted to pull him away, but the other detective was stubborn.

“What? I’ll be totally professional, but come on, how often are you going to get to meet Tony Stark?” Quill tried to speak quietly, though it didn’t stop everyone nearby from hearing.

“Hill’s going to have your ass for this, man. Sit down and be quiet.”

“No, no, detective, that’s all right, no need to berate him,” Stark said with a lazy wave of the hand. “Rest assured, I’m used to it. Didn’t expect anything less when I came up here. Now, who can I speak to about the break-in?”

Sam looked like he didn’t know whether to be reassured or offended.

“Mr. Stark, thank you for coming in,” came Captain Fury’s voice. He’d appeared from his office and walked across the bullpen to shake the other man’s hand, beckoning him deeper into the room. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll direct you to the detective who’ll be taking on your case.”

You tried not to look surprised as Fury headed straight to your desk with Stark behind him. He whipped around when his eyes met an empty desk.

“Where did she—” He spotted you by the microwave next to Steve, shooting you an unimpressed look. “Detective. Do you always take coffee breaks when you’re expecting a new case at any moment?”

“It’s…tea,” you offered weakly, your words tapering off as you dropped the mug on the counter and hastened over.

“Mr. Stark, this is the detective who’ll be assigned to your case. She’ll take your statement. She’s one of our best detectives, untimely coffee breaks notwithstanding.”

“It was…tea,” was your second feeble attempt at clarification as Fury walked away and Stark turned to you.

“Good to make your acquaintance, detective.” His head was tilted to an exaggerated degree as he examined the badge hanging from your hip.

You shook his hand. “Mr. Stark, I apologize. Thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat.”

“No worries, I get the hankering for coffee. Or tea,” he added with a careless smile as he plopped onto the seat next to your desk and rested his ankle on top of the opposite knee.

You took out your notepad. “Now, I understand you’re here to report a breaking and entering at your townhome as well as a stolen necklace?”

“That’s correct. Necklace was a family heirloom, so you understand how big a deal that is. To everyone else, that is. If we’re keeping it between you and me, it doesn’t mean much of anything to me, but I figured, I own it, right? So might as well.”

You nodded slowly. “And can you tell me when you first noticed that the necklace was missing?”

He twisted around in his seat, distracted. “Sorry, got to ask something real quick. Is everyone who works at this precinct abnormally good-looking? Or is it just this floor?”

“Just this floor, sir,” Quill suddenly chimed in from where he’d popped back up. “I was pretty floored by it, too, when I started here. It’s like a TV show. Weird, right? Guess that means you got to come by more often. I mean, not that I want you to keep coming in. I mean, I do, but not ’cause you’re coming in because of a crime. ’Cause that’d be a crime…you coming in for a crime.” Lost in every sense of the word, Quill looked to you for help.

Stark turned to you and pointed a finger at Quill. “This guy always like this?”

“Again, I apologize for Detective Quill. Allow me to assure you, we believe in upholding the utmost professionalism here at the Seven-Seven.”

“Yup. What she said.” Quill pointed at you just as Sam showed up and pulled him away. “Don’t let me scare you away, Mr. Stark. Please come back. But not because of crime. ’Cause that’d be bad.”

You tried to rein in your exasperation. “He won’t be bothering us again. Now, where were we?”

“Pretty sure I was just commenting on the strangely attractive people who work here.” He glanced around again. “Yup, still strange.”

“Right, and before that.”

“Yup, so you were asking when I first noticed the necklace was missing. Mmm, maybe ten forty-seven this morning, give or take.”

“That’s very specific.”

“I remember ’cause I was watching the clock during my home calisthenics class before going up to my room for my smartwatch.”

“And was anything else missing from your home other than the necklace?”

“Negative, just the one.”

“Do you have any staff who work at the house who may have also noticed the missing necklace?”

“Mmm, yeah, a butler and housekeeper, but the walk-in upstairs is expressly off limits. I’m extremely particular about how I keep my clothes. I’d notice if anyone was up there. And yet somehow someone managed to break in undetected and get into my closet without me noticing.”

“Do you have an alarm system installed in your home, Mr. Stark?”

“Yes, but it didn’t go off.”

You continued writing in your notepad. “And did a—”

The lyrical sounds of “Blue” by Eiffel 65 were suddenly ringing out through the room as his cell phone went off.

He held up a finger and pulled it out of his jacket before answering. “I’m in the middle of filing a report, Stane. What do you want?”

You had no choice but to look away, pretending at privacy.

“No, I didn’t talk to those reporters, yes, I took the Lambo that night, and no, that wasn’t my leopard-print underwear on the floor.” Silence. “Yeah, I got it. Now do me a favor and get the jet ready for tonight. There’s an investor’s meeting in Malibu later and it’s going to last well into the night if you catch my drift.” Silence. “Yup. ’Kay, thanks, mom, love you, too.”

He hung up and glanced at you. “Now, where were we?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re going to Malibu tonight?”

“Yeah, you been? Want any recommendations on the spots to crash when you’re in the mood for a party? Completely non-touristy, promise.”

“Well, actually, I was going to recommend that you stay in town while this matter is ongoing. Your presence will be an invaluable contribution to solving this case.”

“We can put it on hold, right? Just for a night or two while I’m gone? You’ve got other cases you can work in the meantime, right?” His phone buzzed. After looking down at it, he stood, preparing to leave. “Oh, looks like something just came up. ’Fraid I got to jet. Nice talking to you, though. Trust you’ll get the job done. Here’s my card if you need me. Oh, but not tonight, if I might make one small request. You get how it is.”

You glanced down at the business card he’d tossed onto your desk and then at his retreating back as he sauntered away. “Mr. Stark, I—”

“Speak to my assistant. She’ll handle everything. Always does,” he said over his shoulder.

“Mr. Stark, that’s not how it works.”

He was already gone.

Stewing in your seat, you copied the contact information into your computer before snatching the business card and filing it in the appropriate compartment.

Steve appeared at your desk and set down your abandoned mug.

“Reheated it.” He took a seat at his desk across from you. “He live up to his name?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t watching the whole time.”

He offered a half-smile.

“I think I already have an idea of who did it, anyway.”

“Who?”

“He said the alarm didn’t go off, so it was most likely the butler or housekeeper. Thing should be open and shut in a matter of days. If he bothers to come back from Malibu anytime soon, anyway.”

“Hey, Rook,” Quill said from across the room, “did you get his autograph? Can I buy it off you? How much you willing to take?”

Steve held in a laugh.

You ignored the both of them.


	5. Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Steve catches you at the bar after a long shift.

“Rook.”

You turned from where you were nursing a drink at the bar to see Steve standing a foot away. He still had on his slacks and black and white plaid dress shirt from earlier, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms.

“What are you doing here? I thought you left the station earlier than me,” you said.

“I did. I was supposed to meet someone here after my shift.” He nodded toward the corner.

You turned and saw a woman at the table looking down at her phone. She looked well-kept. Pristine. Perfect for someone like Steve.

“You’re on a date?”

He pretended to consider it. “Guess so.”

“Pretty amazing how some of us even find the time to date, huh?”

He shrugged. “Well, I work such long days that I got to get ’em in when I can. You know how it is.”

You snorted.

_Yeah. Right._

“You here alone?” he asked, looking around like he might spot the mysterious man you were with.

You decided to toy with him for a bit. “Nope. Date should be here any second.”

“Ah.” He nodded faintly. “Your hickey guy.”

You fought back a smile. If only he knew.

“Yup. No one gives hickeys like my hickey guy,” you said, expecting a smart response.

It didn’t come.

“What’s with you?” you asked. “You don’t usually like it when I get the last word. And what are you even doing over here? Isn’t your date waiting for you?”

He looked over his shoulder to briefly glance at her. “She seems pretty occupied at the moment.”

“’Cause she’s waiting for you, dum-dum.”

He eyed your drink. “How many drinks have you had?”

“What, is it ’cause I called you dum-dum? I always call you that. Dum-dum.”

His brows lifted in amusement. Or maybe it was annoyance. You couldn’t be a hundred percent sure in your tipsy state.

“Long day, huh?” he said.

“Tell me about it. I finally brought in that perp on the Tran case, but then Officer Keller downstairs mislabeled the evidence, almost throwing away months of work, and then I went around town chasing leads on the Jane Doe murder that ultimately got me nowhere. Not to mention Quill heated up his homemade fish recipe in the break room this afternoon.”

“Don’t remind me. I was definitely there for that. I didn’t even realize what it was at first. I could’ve sworn it was someone in the holding cell letting go of their bowels as revenge for being locked up.”

A chuckle escaped your lips against your will, and soon, it was evolving into a full on uncontrollable laugh. Steve watched with a strange expression on his face.

Your laugh quickly petered off. You grew all of a sudden self-conscious. “What?”

He shook his head, seeming to avoid your eye.

Just then, your date emerged from the restroom behind him.

“Oh, there’s my date,” you said, waving her over.

Steve’s brow crinkled when he saw who it was. “Natasha’s your date?”

“Drinking buds for life,” you said.

“What are you doing here, Rogers?” Natasha asked. “Thought your shift ended a while ago.”

“He’s on a date,” you answered for him.

“Ah,” she said. “Pretty awful date you are, then. Chatting up another girl at the bar while your date’s waiting for you over there in the corner.”

Steve didn’t respond to that, just spared you another glance. “Try not to drink too much, Rook. I don’t need you sitting across from me tomorrow morning turning green around the gills.”

He walked away.

Natasha watched him go for a second before dropping back onto the stool next to you. “That was weird.”

“Yup.” You watched as Steve returned to his date, who set her phone down and gave him a bright smile once he reappeared. “Totally weird.”


	6. Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where some of the squad speculate about Officer Barnes's past.

“Twenty bucks says he’s ex-CIA,” you said.

“CIA? Try SVR,” Sam retorted.

“Trust me, I know SVR. He’s not SVR,” Natasha threw in casually.

“What’s going on?” Steve walked into the bullpen with his coffee to find the three of you huddled together by Sam’s desk.

“We’re taking bets on who Officer Barnes was before he became a cop,” said Sam. “I say he was deep in some shady black ops mess before he joined. Romanoff thinks he was a hitman for the mob. Rook thinks he’s ex-CIA.”

“And ex-military before that,” you added.

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do than gossip?” Steve asked.

“Gossip has been an integral part of developing and maintaining human relationships since the dawn of humanity,” you said. “It’d be more unnatural not to do it.”

“You knew him before the academy, Rogers. Why don’t you tell us about him? Weren’t you Army pals?” asked Natasha.

“It’s not my story to tell,” he said, settling at his desk. “You want to know, you’ll have to ask him.”

“So there is a story,” you said. “Why don’t you just tell us?”

“You’re making a much bigger deal out of it than it is. You all have been watching too many movies.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam said. “You know how many TV shows and movies they make about us? It’s kind of hard to resist, isn’t it?”

“Oh, there he is,” you said in a hushed, urgent tone upon spotting the topic of conversation.

Everyone watched as Officer Barnes rounded the corner in his uniform, guiding a man into the holding cell.

Barnes was a reserved, stoic man who gave off an understated lethal vibe, like he was trying to hide it. He seemed slightly rebellious toward the dress code if the hair that always reached just past his strong jaw was any indication, and though he was generally clean-shaven, he always managed to sport a five o’clock shadow by the end of the day.

“Hey, Officer Barnes,” said Natasha, “you ever going to tell us what you did before becoming a cop?”

He turned after he finished the task at hand only to pin her with a direct look. “Not telling you.”

Then he walked away.

“Oh, well, he definitely shouldn’t have said that if the plan was for us to back off,” Sam muttered.

“Hmm. Maybe it is time to lay off,” said Natasha.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” you asked.

She shrugged offhandedly. “I just get what it’s like to have maybe had a hand in some less than savory dealings in the past. That’s all.”

You stared after her in befuddlement as she returned to her desk before turning back to Sam and Steve. “Does anybody else here have a dark past they don’t want anyone knowing about?”

Sam put his hands up. “Hey, you know me. Air Force then straight to the police academy.”

“Hmm.” You left him to his work and went back to your desk. “How long have you known Barnes, Steve?”

“You’re awfully nosy today, aren’t you?”

“Just thought I’d ask on the off chance you might be feeling charitable today.”

He only spared you a sardonic look before returning to the files in his hand.

You didn’t intend to dig any deeper. Barnes’s business was his business and as long as it didn’t affect you or the squad, he had the right to keep it to himself.

Inside, however, you were burning with curiosity. It didn’t help matters that Steve seemed to be deliberately holding back whatever it was he knew about the man.

Later in the afternoon, you had just left the restroom when you quite literally bumped into the man himself.

“Oh!” You reared back when you made contact with his firm chest and something made a small clink against the linoleum. “Sorry about that, Officer Barnes. Should’ve watched where I was going.”

He steadied you with a brief clasp to your upper arms. “I was distracted,” he said before reaching down for the pen he’d dropped.

“Your lucky pen?” you asked.

He lifted his brows minutely as if to say, “Hmm?”

“Seems like every time I see you, you have that pen in your hand. I was just asking if it was lucky.” You shrugged it off, conveying that it wasn’t a big deal.

His face betrayed no emotion, though he looked at you head-on. “Sometimes it’s a pen. Sometimes it’s not.”

And that was all you got.

He resumed his path, twirling the pen around his fingers with an expertise you found almost unnerving.

You turned to head back for the bullpen.

The others were going to have a field day with this.


	7. Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where you're put in an undesirable situation and find an ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sexual harassment

You were really starting to regret not taking Lieutenant Okoye and Officer Wong up on their offers to drop you off at home.

You should have just finished overtime after dropping off the requisition forms down at the weapons inventory, but then you figured you might as well go over the evidence on your missing persons case one more time before heading home for the night.

When that was done, you exchanged brief farewells with the janitor before gathering your things.

It was a frigid, blustery night, and you were not looking forward to making the more than several treks’ worth of blocks to your apartment by foot as you usually did. Nor were you looking forward to a ride on the subway where the likelihood of becoming intimately familiar with more than one mysterious fluid was too high for your liking, especially after a long and draining day.

You stood outside the precinct, the collar of your jacket flapping wildly in the wind. The bus was taking way too long to arrive, but you decided you would tough it out.

Just then, one of the doors to the precinct opened and out stepped Steve, wrapped in his own coat with his hands bunched in the pockets.

He looked ready to head in the opposite direction, doing just that until he glanced at the road to his right and caught sight of you.

“Rook.” He stopped in his tracks, looking caught off guard. “What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

“Just waiting for the bus,” you said, huddling beneath your jacket. “I’m sure it’ll be here soon.”

He glanced around the road. “How long you been waiting?”

“Not long. Just twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? It’s freezing out here.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” The bite of your words was taken out by the bout of shivering that took hold of your body.

It might have been your imagination, but something in his expression seemed to soften slightly before it went back to normal and he jerked his head in the opposite direction. “Come on.”

“What?”

“You’re riding with me.”

“No, I’m not, Rogers. It’s okay, really. I’ll just wait for the bus.”

“Stop being stubborn, Rook, and get in the car. I’m right around the corner. I’ll even close my eyes once we get to your place so I don’t have any more personal information on you than you want me to.”

“That makes no sense at all.” You could barely raise your voice over the shivers wracking your body.

“Yeah, I can barely hear you over the shivering. Now come on. Get in.”

It would have been stupid of you to keep arguing.

Tightening the jacket around your middle, you scurried over to reach his side and soon arrived at his car.

To your dismay, it was no warmer inside than it was out. But once the engine was up and running and you were on the move, you were able to relax bit by bit.

“Thanks for this,” you said. “I don’t know why it’s so cold out tonight.”

“Cold front,” he said.

There was little conversation after you gave him the directions. You merely sat in silence, but to your surprise, it wasn’t uncomfortable. The background noise and soothing feel of the heat blasting from the vents lulled you into a near stupor, and something about Steve’s presence on that cold night made you feel safe.

It was an unexpected realization.

Your stomach let loose a sudden, deep growl.

“You eat yet?” Steve asked.

You shook your head. “I haven’t had anything all day. I barely ate breakfast, and I skipped lunch to look into those leads on my missing persons case.”

“So that’s what you were doing.”

“Yup. I can’t wait to get home and gorge myself on leftover takeout.”

It was quiet while Steve focused on the road. Then he asked, “Want to grab a bite?”

“What?”

“I could eat something, too, and I’m not really up to fixing something up for myself right now. Figured we could kill two birds with one stone while we’re out.”

“What are the two birds?”

“What?”

“What are the two birds we’re killing?”

“What do you—” He threw you a confused glance. “The both of us getting to eat.”

“I just thought ‘two birds’ implied that the two things were different in nature and not just the same thing but for two different people.”

“Are you really going to make me regret asking you, Rook?”

“All right, all right, I was kidding. Yes. I guess we can get something to-go real quick. If I’m being honest, those leftovers have probably already gone bad anyway.”

He took a turn away from your street. “Actually, I was thinking we could sit down. If I’m being honest, too, I’m not really looking forward to being alone with the quiet once I get home. Doesn’t make sense, right? Most people in this city would kill to live in a quiet building.”

And so he wanted to mitigate the silence by sitting down with you for a meal? Willingly?

You cast him a glance that let him know what you thought about that, but in the end, said, “Okay.”

“You care what kind of food it is?”

You shook your head.

Eventually, he parked along the curb a short distance away from a real hole-in-the-wall-looking place. But you soon discovered they served warm, perfectly appetizing comfort food, and that was just fine with you.

The topic of conversation stuck mostly to work. Though you were edging dangerously into burnt-out territory and needed a breather from work, there wasn’t much else you thought you could safely talk about with Steve.

With a comfortably full stomach, you leaned back in your seat as Steve tossed you the car keys.

“Here. Get it heated up while I run to the bathroom real quick.”

_You could throw in a ‘please.’_

You headed back into the cold, nearly at the car when the keys slipped from your hands.

You were bending over to pick them up when a low whistle came from behind you.

“Hey, sweetie. You free tonight?”

Already glaring before you’d even set eyes on him, you ignored the stranger and walked on. You were almost at the car.

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to you.”

You ignored him.

You heard his footsteps quicken, and yours did the same in response.

With a quick press to the key fob, the car doors unlocked and you speedily got in and locked the doors, hoping it would deter the man.

Instead, he stepped right up to the window and peered in, knocking on the glass.

You stared ahead, pointedly ignoring him, the keys tightly clutched in your hand. When that made you feel even more awkward, you turned away and rooted around aimlessly with your eyes as though begging for something more important to draw your attention. Then, when that didn’t work, you turned to look at the man head-on, hoping your direct stare would intimidate him into leaving.

He was middle-aged, wearing a ratty beanie over his head and a zip-up jacket two sizes too big that probably hid a major beer belly.

You didn’t care what he looked like. You wanted him gone.

“What, you think you’re better than me? Huh?” he asked in a thick New York accent. He rapped on the window again, and you tried not to visibly jump.

“What, you got a man? Is that it?” He made a show of looking around the lamplit sidewalk that was almost devoid of pedestrians. “I don’t see no man. He leave you, sweetie? Tell you what, you stay with me, I won’t leave you alone, I promise you that. I’ll make y—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

He was roughly yanked away, trying not to trip over his own feet until he was left standing face to face with Steve.

A Steve who looked like he was ready to commit murder.

“Walk away now,” was all he said. His voice was pitched so deep it was difficult to make out through the glass.

“What, you going to do something? Pretty boy like you isn’t going to do shit.”

Wordlessly, Steve swept his jacket aside to reveal the badge he still had perched on his hip. The man started to ease off, probably unconsciously.

“You a cop? Shit, man, I wasn’t doin’ anything. Was just asking if she had a man.”

“She shouldn’t need a man for lowlives like you to leave her alone. Turn around and get out of here before my patience runs out.”

The man attempted a poor show of bravado, but after sparing you a barely-there glance, he backed off until he was disappearing down the sidewalk.

It was silent after he left. Steve just barely refrained from slamming the door shut as he got in. Then he started the ignition, letting the heat warm you up, and drove off.

“I didn’t get the heat started,” you eventually said. It was the least important thing you could have mentioned, but you didn’t know what else to say.

“I know,” was his response. His voice was still weighed down with something dark.

You soon reached your building, and still you had no idea what to say. You just reached for the door handle and mumbled, “Thanks,” though for what, you didn’t clarify.

You finally chanced a look at his face and found his jaw tightly clenched.

When all he gave you was a stiff nod, you shut the door. He waited until you were in the building before driving off into the night.

The dark look in his eyes kept you up later than usual that night.

**. . .**

The next morning, you got to the precinct earlier than him.

No words were spoken as he settled down at his desk, looking to all the world like his usual self if not for the shadows under his eyes.

He went about setting up his station, never meeting your eye, even when you gave up all pretense and simply watched.

Finally, after there was nothing else he could busy himself with, he looked up.

“What?”

There was a residual something there, and though you couldn’t quite put a name to it, you knew it wasn’t directed toward you.

“I could’ve handled it.”

He met your gaze for a full two seconds that managed to feel like two minutes, then averted it. “I know,” he said.

He retrieved a stack of files from his desk, preparing to stand.

“But thank you.”

He paused, meeting your eye again.

And nodded.

He walked past your desk toward Sergeant Hill’s, leaving you with the knowledge that that was the most you were going to get out of him that day.

It was all you needed.


End file.
